Napoleon Who?
by Rousdower
Summary: Sherlock has found himself bored. And Molly isn't helping with her refusal to obtain a kidney punctured by a rubber duck (among other things), so he takes it upon himself to go to her flat and discover the basis for her refusal. And what he encounters is something horrifying... Sherlolly (kinda sorta? maybe a bit more than kinda...) Never written Sherlolly before. Excuse the weird.


**Disclaimer: I na owny nothink.**

_I need two right index fingers and a kidney that has been punctured by a rubber duck- SH_

_No. -MH_

_And where on earth would I get a kidney punctured by a rubber duck?-MH_

_Why not? -SH_

_You could buy a rubber duck, and puncture it yourself. -SH_

_I'm off work for the first time in three weeks. I am going to sit down with a glass of wine and watch a movie. NOT get you body parts, or puncture kidneys with rubber ducks. Am I clear? -MH_

_No. -SH_

_What do you mean 'No'? No means no, and I'm saying no. How is that not clear. -MH_

_With that sentence added, more ways than one. -SH_

_I'm sorry. Will you get me the body parts? -SH_

_Please? -SH_

_Molly. -SH_

_MOLLY. -SH_

_Now sitting on my couch with a glass of wine and watching my favorite movie ever! :D:D:D:D -MH_

_Please, Molly. -SH_

_I need you. -SH_

_And that is decidedly the OPPOSITE of getting body parts for the Great Consulting Child. :D:D:D:D LOLOLOL! -MH_

*O*O*O*O*O*O*

Sherlock stared down at his phone in shock. The 'I need you line' always worked! What could Molly possibly be watching that is THIS engaging? His look of disbelief turned very quickly into a petulant scowl as he threw himself on the couch.

Staring at his skull, he began talking;

"It's gotten rather boring hasn't it?"

No reply.

"Molly is being insufferable."

No reply.

"Why is Molly being insufferable?"

The skull's leer remained in place.

"Why can't she take ten minutes to get me those body parts?"

An idea sprang into his mind and he picked up his phone again.

_I can puncture the kidneys myself. -SH_

After ten minutes and no reply, Sherlock sat in silence. With John on vacation with his family and Mrs. Hudson visiting Mrs. Turner, Nobody was witness to Sherlock's latest bout of the infamous 'Silent Tantrum'.

Finally, the boredom overcame him and sprang off the couch and threw his Belstaff on (despite it being the middle of July), marching out of the door.

*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*

Molly took a sip of her wine and promptly choked. Of course she timed the sip with her one of her favorite jokes. Rolling her eyes at herself, she managed to swallow it without further incident. Her phone binged and she looked down at it. Growling in frustration, she threw it in the armchair to her right. Puncture the kidneys himself. And does he need them punctured with rubber ducks? It couldn't get weirder.

Lately, she had been getting fed up with Sherlock Holmes. He was at the morgue more than ever, always pestering her for this, manipulating her for that. Sometimes she wondered why she even bothered with the man.

A short while later, she heard scratching at her door. Wondering if perhaps she left Toby out, she walked over to the door and opened it. Of course, what she found there most certainly wasn't Toby. Who was now, in fact, standing in between her legs.

Kneeling on her welcome mat, a lock pick frozen in position between his index finger and thumb, Sherlock Holmes looked up at her with an impossibly innocent expression. Molly's mouth dropped open and she stared at him in disbelief. She didn't move when he got up, dusted off his coat, pocketed his lock-pick, and looked at her expectantly. After fifteen seconds, he rolled his eyes, lifted his finger, closed her mouth and swept in her flat with a haughty, "Don't stand there looking insipid Molly. I would like to talk to you about the body parts I requested."

At this, Molly narrowed her eyes and muttered, "Make yourself at home, why don't you?"

"Heard that!"

"I don't care!" she snapped. Since 'The Fall', she had gotten a bit braver around Sherlock, not stuttering (as much, it still happened now and then) and less blushing. She had a feeling that tonight, her bravery was going to know no bounds (with that glass and a half of wine in her system, she was fairly certain). Especially if Sherlock was going to act like this.

Speaking of which… she was _not_ going to stand for him barging in here like he owned the place, demanding body parts that she had already refused, _while_ she was in the middle of her favorite movie of all time.

"Sherlock!" she called towards the living room (that being the room he had made a beeline for).

No answer.

"_Sherlock!_"

Still no answer.

Huffing, she stomped rather ungracefully towards the living room, all the while saying, "Sherlock Holmes, I swear, if you've gone in your mind palace-"

She was cut off by the sight of Sherlock standing in front of the television, with an expression that could only be labeled as horrified.

"Sherlock?" she asked, trying not to giggle.

Sherlock opened and closed his mouth several times before he managed an answer.

Not once tearing his eyes away from the screen, he said in a fearful voice, "What _is _this monstrosity of an American film?"

Molly couldn't help herself and burst out laughing.

Sherlock turned to her, looking thoroughly offended, "What?"

Holding one hand to her stomach, and raising the other one as a gesture to wait, while she slowly maneuvered herself to the sofa, still laughing hysterically. Plopping down, she attempted to calm herself, but one look at Sherlock's still horrified expression (upon seeing Molly was unable to answer him, he had rolled his eyes and turned back to the TV), she burst into a fresh wave of laughter. After a few minutes, she had calmed down, and Sherlock was still frozen in place, with the same expression of horror.

Sherlock slowly turned from the television and stared at Molly. After a few seconds, Molly became uncomfortable, and was about to say something when Sherlock spared her the trouble.

"I repeat my earlier question. What _is_ this monstrosity of an American film?"

Molly giggled and said, "It's called Napoleon Dynamite, Sherlock."

"Napoleon _who_?"

"Dynamite."

"Who on this _earth_ would bear such a name?" Sherlock said, with a disgusted expression. "Wait… no… let me guess. The pathetic imbecile with the glasses?"

Molly giggled again, "Uh-huh. Tell you what… I'll start it over," she said.

Sherlock's eyes widened. "No. You can't make me watch this."

Molly shrugged, starting the movie over anyways, "Okay."

They stared at the screen in silence.

"I don't understand the point of these…" Sherlock gestured to the beginning credits.

Molly sniggered, "There is no point Sherlock."

**_15 minutes later…_**

"_So… did you do anything this summer, Napoleon?"_

_"Hell yeah. I went wolverine hunting with my uncle in Canada."_

_"What kind of gun did you use?"_

_"A TWELVE GAGE! What do you think? Idiots…"_

_"Did you shoot anything?"_

_"Yes. Like fifty of them."_

"HE IS CLEARLY LYING!"

Molly rolled her eyes, "Of course he is Sherlock. Anyone who watches this movie would know that."

Not five minutes into the movie, Sherlock had flopped onto the couch next to Molly, Rubber Duck Punctured Kidneys all but forgotten. Molly had done an internal fist pump of victory before she realized how close Sherlock was sitting to her.

**_30 minutes later…_**

"_Eat your ham, Tina. EAT THE FRIKKIN HAM!"_

"Why is he feeding that alpaca ham?"

"It's part of the stupidity of this move, Sherlock," Molly muttered.

A few minutes later, Molly felt a nudge on her arm.

"Move."

"Excuse me?" Molly asked indignantly.

"Move. I need to lie down."

"Well, you can very well lie down on the floor."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow before bodily sliding her down to the end of the couch and plopping his head in her lap.

"Oh for gods' sake, relax Molly. I won't bite," Sherlock muttered. "And why does that bloody uncle have such an obsession with that insipid American sport?"

Molly didn't answer this time, as she was still trying to cope with the head in her lap.

**_One hour later…_**

Molly woke up with a start and looked around her living room dazedly. She took note that her television was off and she had a blanked draped over her.

But that couldn't be right.

That would mean that Sherlock had been thoughtful.

Sherlock is _never_ thoughtful.

Her phone pinged and she looked around blankly before remembering that she had thrown it in to her armchair. Crawling across the couch, she grabbed it and looked at the text sent to her.

_Could you bring a rubber duck when you come to the morgue? -SH_

Oh. That's why he was thoughtful. Another ping.

_And coffee. -SH_

Molly felt her face start to heat up. And it was most definitely from anger.

_Black, two sugars. -SH_

Molly lifted her hand to throw the phone back into the armchair, and it pinged again. She didn't look at it and threw it in the chair anyways. It landed screen up and she could just make out the words.

_I also request your presence for dinner at Angelo's. 7:30 tomorrow night. Wear something nice. -SH_

_And no. It's not a case. -SH_

Molly hesitantly picked up her phone and typed an answer.

_Then what is it? -MH_

_Use what little of brain you have (though it is considerably more than most) and guess. -SH_

**A/N: Uh… Hi?**

**Sorry if I got any lines wrong. I did them by memory... and any OOCness is duly regretted.**

**I don't know how I feel about this? Sooo.. Uh… **

**Review?**

**Rousdower out.**


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